


Growing pains

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: Witcher Fanfics [13]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-01 07:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14515605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: There was currently only one student utilising a plaque, and that was for a simple Drowner, which the student had lucked into encountering while gathering firewood with some older students. Its shiny, bulbous head was nothing impressive; in fact, it was rather off-putting in both smell and appearance, but Geralt was jealous of it all the same. As their doors were side by side, it made Geralt's (and Eskel’s by extension, as they shared a room) lack of trophy all the more apparent.Geralt wants a trophy for his and Eskel's bedroom door. They sneak out to get one.





	Growing pains

In Kaer Morhen, it was customary for residents to decorate their bedroom door with trophies. The eldest witchers in the keep had the most impressive trophies to display, and they would hang up everything from Chort heads to Leshen skulls. Geralt most admired the Royal Wyvern head on Vesemir's door and he never tired of hearing the story of how Vesemir had acquired it, but he was admittedly biased, being closer to Vesemir than any of the other adults in the keep. 

Students that were new to the path had less impressive trophies to exhibit. When passing through their hallway, the younger students would be treated to the sight of Siren skulls, Water Hag skulls, and Foglet skulls. The only item that had really stood out was a Fire Elemental heart, which had been taken down after a younger student had tried to steal it (for practical reasons rather than aesthetical; the heart radiated warmth and the boy had wanted to put it at the end of his bed to warm his feet. He'd instead ended up going to bed with a hot ass.)

Those who had not yet graduated generally had nothing to display. There was currently only one student utilising a plaque, and that was for a simple Drowner, which the student had lucked into encountering while gathering firewood with some older students. Its shiny, bulbous head was nothing impressive; in fact, it was rather off-putting in both smell and appearance, but Geralt was jealous of it all the same. As their doors were side by side, it made Geralt's (and Eskel’s by extension, as they shared a room) lack of trophy all the more apparent.

After a month of being subjected to the sight of the Drowner head, Geralt resolved to be the next trainee witcher to have a trophy on their door, one far more impressive than what his neighbour was displaying. Perhaps a Water Hag, or a Foglet. If he conscripted Eskel he was sure they’d be able to take on one of them. They were young, inexperienced, but the fact it was two on one would level the playing field. And besides, they were only three years off eighteen, which was when most students – provided they proved themselves adequately trained – started on the path, and getting a head start was probably a good idea. This way, they would know what to expect when they ventured beyond the keep.

Once night had fallen, he and Eskel spread a rough map of Kaer Morhen out on their bedroom floor and planned their excursion in a conspiratorial whisper.

“We’ll probably have to go pretty far out,” mumbled Eskel as he traced a finger down the messily drawn ravine on their map. “We could swim toward the iron mine. There ought to be something around there.”

“We might have better luck around the watch tower,” said Geralt, pointing at the appropriate location. “They don’t take hunting parties too far out there, so some monsters should still be around.”

“You might be right about that," Eskel conceded, falling back on his haunches.

“Of course I am,” said Geralt, carefully folding the map back up. He stood and hid it in their wardrobe. “It’s only _your_ plans that have ever led us to trouble.”

“That only happened once, and it wouldn’t have had you stifled your laughter,” shot back Eskel.

"You laughed at the bee too," Geralt reminded him. "Like a fog horn." 

"Whatever, mister 'wheezing cackles'."

"Shut up."

"Or should I call you 'Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde’?" asked Eskel, his tone innocent, but expression clearly derisive. 

“It's a good name.” Geralt cast a glare over his shoulder. “Just wait until I tell Vesemir. He’ll think it’s great.”

“He’ll think it’s dumb.”

“At least I’ve taken the time to make up a surname for myself. No one’s going to hire you if you just introduce yourself as ‘Eskel’.”

“You want to bet on that?”

Geralt stubbornly remained silent. He knew Eskel would get work, regardless of the absence of a surname, but he didn’t want to concede that by refusing Eskel’s bet. 

“That’s what I thought,” said Eskel smugly.

Instead of replying, Geralt retrieved a cleaning brush from the bottom of their wardrobe and threw it at Eskel.

Eskel managed to catch it and throw it back, much to Geralt’s frustration. It smacked into Geralt’s shoulder before he could turn to avoid it. “Anyway,” said Eskel, crawling onto his bed and easily evading the brush when Geralt picked it up and threw it again. “What do we do when the teachers find out? Because they will.”

“We’ll just hide the heads in our wardrobe until we do the courses again,” said Geralt, shrugging. “Then come up with an excuse when we hang them up.”

“And if we get belted or extra training?”

“Then we get belted or extra training. Not like it hasn’t happened before.”

“You only say that because Vesemir always lets you off easy,” said Eskel. He stretched out on his mattress, throwing his arms up under his head. “But fine. I’ve read all the material they assigned us, so it’s not like I have anything better to do.”

They waited until it was past midnight before creeping out their room. There were a few trainers slumbering in the entrance hall, sprawled across the dining table, unconscious and surrounded by goblets and empty bottles of grog. One of them was drooling excessively, straight onto his gwent cards. He wasn’t going to be pleased when he woke up and discovered he'd ruined his own deck.

Stifling giggles, he and Eskel nudged the entrance doors open and squeezed out, careful not to make a sound. It was a good thing their training had taught them to slink around like mice. Good for them, at least; not so much for their guardians, who would often wake in the morning to find food missing from the pantry or candles nicked from the storage cupboard. 

They stopped creeping once the doors were shut behind them, taking deep breaths of the fresh, night air and hurrying down the path leading to the lake, eager to get to work. There would be plenty of beasties out at this time of night. They always tended to be more active between midnight and dawn.

As they walked, they brushed shoulders and shot each other grins, both exhilarated and a little anxious. They weren’t usually allowed out on their own at night, and they definitely weren’t allowed to go as far as the Watchtower. The trainers had exposed them to monsters before, but only in a controlled environment, where they could intervene if necessary (sometimes they didn’t move fast enough and a student died, but this had only happened once since Geralt had arrived at Kaer Morhen). So far he had only fought Drowner's and Ghouls, never a Foglet or a Water Hag – but he was sure he and Eskel would manage. They were said to be the most promising students among the current batch. Geralt especially so, having survived additional mutations while his fellows had died.

Their breath fogged when they exhaled. Courtesy of the surrounding mountains, Kaer Morhen tended to get chilly at night. Having lived here since he was a toddler, Geralt was accustomed to the weather, but the same couldn’t be said for his peers, most of whom had been brought to Kaer Morhen between the ages of six and ten. Eskel had arrived at seven years of age and he was shivering under the intensity of the cold.

“Here,” said Geralt, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over Eskel’s shoulders. Eskel attempted to give it back, but Geralt pressed it onto him insistently. “The cold doesn't bother me. Take it."

Eskel nodded and tied the coat arms around his shoulders. Geralt was a little too thin for him to wear it normally.

“What do you reckon we’ll encounter?” asked Eskel. “Water Hags and Foglets aren’t the only monsters around here.”

“If we find Drowners, we’ll just walk away. Don’t want one of them hanging on our door.”

“Well, if it’s a Drowner Dead, it won’t look that bad.”

“It’d smell horrible, though.”

“True,” conceded Eskel. “Don’t imagine a Hag would smell much better, but a hag’s what I’m hoping for. They’re supposed to have some degree of intelligence. More impressive than a Drowner for sure.”

“Uglier, though,” said Geralt.

“Yeah, wrinkled and haggard like the healers that visit the keep.”

“Don’t say that about Nenneke.” Geralt gave Eskel a shove, and Eskel shoved back just as hard. They dissolved into laughter. “She’s not that old! Have you even met her? I can’t remember.”

“A few times,” said Eskel, red-cheeked and grinning. “Guess her job has aged her prematurely, huh? I’d look like that too if I had to deal with blood and pus on the daily.”

“When we start on the path, we _will_ have to deal with blood and pus and _worse_ pretty much every day, Eskel.”

“Not as intimately as she does." Eskel shrugged. "Not in the case of pus, at least, which is considerably worse than blood.”

“Can’t disagree there.”

They weren’t far off their destination. The terrain was starting to turn slushy, and soon they would arrive at the lakeside shack and the boat tied there. They would have to be careful to bring it back to exactly where they had found it when they were done. Though the teachers would inevitably know they had been out when they saw the heads on their door, they might at least be able to convince them they’d acquired the heads while on a track. It wasn’t entirely unbelievable, given how vast the forest was. They might get a few licks for straying, but that was it. Best case scenario, they would be praised.

They both dropped their hands to the pommel of their swords, wary as they approached the shack. Geralt didn’t see any monsters around, nor hear anything in the surrounding wildlife, but Vesemir had taught them to always be vigilant. ‘Without due vigilance, one cannot hope to survive the path. Demonstrate constant vigilance and you might just live past the age of twenty.’

They only eased up once at the boat. Geralt untied it from the wooden stake it was attached to and stepped inside, allowing Eskel to take the helm. Between the two of them, only Eskel had any experience steering a boat, though after the trauma of the mutations, Eskel had forgotten where exactly he’d learned that skill. From his father, probably. But they didn’t really talk about their parents. They didn’t like to dwell on what they had lost.

When they surveyed the lake, they didn’t see any Drowner's in the water, nor any gathering on the perimeter. The elder witchers were usually pretty good at ensuring the grounds were monster and wildlife free. When they were old enough, he and Eskel intended to form their own hunting party and take over for the current one. For obvious reasons, the role of hunter wasn't exactly a sought after job in Kaer Morhen, and few other students expressed interest in it, but neither he nor Eskel minded. They figured being part of a hunting team meant they would get to spend more time together during winter, so what did the monotony matter so long as they could talk to each other?

They reached the opposite bank with a shudder and a lurch. Eskel retrieved the rope and tied the boat to a nearby tree, taking care that it was nice and tight. If the boat broke free and drifted off, they’d have to swim and retrieve it, the cold be damned, and neither of them particularly wanted to do that.

Eskel extended a hand as though Geralt were a maiden, and Geralt slapped it away with a playful scowl, heaving himself out of the boat and into mud. He probably could have avoided it with Eskel’s help, but he had boots on, so he didn’t much mind. He’d clean them when they got back.

“We should draw our swords,” said Eskel, already in the process of drawing his.

Geralt hastily followed suit. “Right, let’s go. The watchtower isn’t far.”

“We probably shouldn’t go too far beyond it, even if we don’t encounter a monster,” said Eskel as they walked. “Don’t want to find anything too dangerous.”

“Are you saying we couldn’t take on a Chort?”

“Wolf, you know we’d be fucked.”

“Maybe. Or we’d have a Chort head hanging on our door.”

“No, we’d be fucked.”

Geralt snorted. “Alright, fine.”

"Don't pout, you know it's true." Eskel deliberately brought their shoulders together, jostling them. "We'll fight one together when we're older. How about it?"

"Think we'll still be sharing a room by that point?" asked Geralt. "Not much point in fighting a Chort together if only one of us can keep the head."

Eskel shrugged. "It's not standard, but I wouldn't mind sharing a room."

"Neither would I."

"Guess that's settled, then," said Eskel. "We'll share a room."

"And kill a Chort."

"That too."

It didn’t take them long to reach the tower, and they ambled on past it, heading for the meagre greenery up ahead. Geralt could just about make out clouds of mist among some trees, and where there was mist, there was a Foglet. They’d gotten exceptionally lucky considering there weren’t any other monsters around. If they’d ended up finding nothing, they’d have to have gone back to the keep empty handed.

"Ready?" asked Geralt, glancing at Eskel.

Eskel nodded.

They applied Necrophage Oil to their swords before they proceeded into the fog. The monster unveiled itself the moment they entered its vicinity, snarling at them as it blinked into being.

Geralt lunched for it first, swinging his sword in a tight circle and succeeding in glancing it across the chest. It stumbled and receded into the fog, just as Eskel moved in to perform his own strike.

“First hit to me,” said Geralt, retreating until his back jostled up against Eskel’s.

“We’re cooperating, Wolf,” said Eskel, and Geralt could practically hear his eyes rolling. “This isn’t a competition.”

“But if it was, I’d have gotten first hit.”

“Fine, but- shit!” The Foglet lashed out at them – or Foglet’ _s_ , rather, as another had joined the fray, swinging its talons at Eskel's neck. Eskel barely managed to evade in time to avoid a grievous injury.

“Two!” Geralt exclaimed, sounding panicked. He hadn’t banked on _two_. He tore at the one he’d already struck and aimed the tip of his sword at its chest, watching in his peripheral vision as Eskel parried a blow from the other Foglet.

He didn’t manage to get his sword through the Foglet’s chest, as he'd hoped, but he did manage to strike it hard enough across the face to momentarily disorientate it. He was quick to take advantage, swinging his sword down over its hand and lopping it off with ease. The beast cried out in fury and pain.

Behind him, Eskel performed Aard and sent his Foglet slamming into a tree. Geralt saw him catch the Foglet across the stomach with the tip of his blade, but he didn’t manage to inflict any killing damage. Eskel was forced back as it retaliated and Geralt turned to help him, figuring he had a few seconds before his own opponent recovered its wits.

He was wrong. He didn't manage to move more than a few feet before he was crying out as long, jagged claws slashed him across the back of a thigh. He stumbled and collapsed, bleeding out in thick rivulets that dizzied Geralt when he looked at them. By the time he’d managed to pick himself up, Eskel was at his side, breathing hard and staring at him with wide, panicked eyes.

“Oh, shit,” Eskel breathed, shaking hard. “Wolf, are you okay? Are you-“

“I'm fine,” Geralt forced through clenched teeth. It was no worse than the injuries he'd received through training. He raised his sword, ready to resume the attack. “Don’t panic. We have to deal with them.”

They leapt out of the way of another attack and one of Eskel’s arms came up to wrap around his shoulders. Geralt quickly shrugged it off.

“We don't have time for that, Eskel! Come on!”

“O-okay!” A deep breath. “Okay. Keep close, Wolf.”

They swung at the incapacitated Foglet together, side by side. This time they managed a killing blow, sending its head flying one way and its body flying the other. The adrenaline of victory was enough to make Geralt momentarily forget the pain of his injury. He grinned and adjusted his grip on his sword, ready to surge for the other Foglet. Eskel stuck so close to him that he could feel Eskel's heat radiating through the jackets.

The remaining Foglet brandished its claws and bared its teeth at them, approaching in a slow, cautious manner, aware now that it was vulnerable. It was one Foglet against two Witcher’s – two inexperienced Witcher’s, sure, but they’d just proven themselves capable opponents by killing the Foglet’s brother.

When the Foglet made its move, Eskel feigned to the left, while Geralt went right for it, intending to act as a distraction. It worked. The Foglet’s claws struck his sword and Eskel came up at its side, thrusting his sword into its belly and pulling his sword in a semi-circle, slicing the Foglet in two. It fell heavily to the ground. For a few moments, it writhed where it had fallen, inching its way across the grass and making soft, pathetic gurgling noises, and then it fell still.

He and Eskel were left panting hard.

Geralt slowly lowered himself to the ground, shaking like he’d just run a mile without pausing for breath. The realisation that he was still bleeding came to him when the grass brushed up against his wound and prompted a sharp sting. He closed his eyes and licked his lips, and he thought perhaps this hadn’t been a good idea after all. He'd nearly gotten both of them killed. 

“Geralt,” said Eskel. Geralt couldn’t remember that last time Eskel had referred to him by his name. He dropped to his haunches before Geralt, raising a hand to Geralt’s hair and cradling his head. “We… we have _two_ heads. The others’ll be really impressed once they’re done calling us idiots.”

Geralt gave a choked bark of laughter. “They ought to be, after all the effort we went through to get them.” He closed the space between them and pressed their foreheads together. “One for each of us. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea.”

“You got cut,” pointed out Eskel.

“It’s a small cut,” said Geralt, but he grimaced at the reminder. He was going to need to sneak gauze out of the basement and wrap it up.

“I was worried for a moment.” The volume of Eskel’s voice lowered, as though he were embarrassed. “Thought you’d been horribly injured when you cried out.”

“Didn’t cry out _that_ loud.”

“You did. Like a banshee.”

Geralt smiled despite the gentle ribbing. “Plough yourself.”

“Nah.”

They were still breathing hard, leaning against each other. Eskel's gaze dropped to his lips, and then, without a word of warning, Eskel pressed their mouths together.

Neither of them had enough experience for the kiss to be anything more than a brush of lips, but it was still a kiss, even steeped in naivety as it was. Geralt stared at Eskel in shock. Eskel withdrew, his face pink and eyes wide, and turned away. It didn’t look as though he’d put any thought into what he’d just done.

“Eskel,” said Geralt weakly, uncertain of how to proceed.

“Sorry,” said Eskel, vacating his personal space. “We- we should get back. We need to get something around your leg.”

Geralt clamoured to his feet. His leg was still bleeding, but sluggishly now. He wasn’t in any danger of losing a fatal amount of blood.

He caught Eskel by the shoulder before he could turn away and returned the kiss. He tried to be less chaste about it so Eskel would know he reciprocated the interest. His hands shook minutely, nervous as he was. His palms were sweaty. He didn’t know what to do with them. Eskel seemed to notice and wrapped his fingers tight around them, holding them as they pressed their lips together unhurriedly, nervously, their hearts twittering in their chests.

When they finally parted, they did so pink-faced and still out of breath, diverting their eyes and grinning stupidly.

“Hope we get to do that more often,” said Eskel, somewhat shyly.

“Don’t see why not,” said Geralt.

Falling into a companionable silence, they retrieved the Foglet heads and returned to the boat. This time, Eskel let Geralt take the helm, though Geralt did so with some hesitation, and they nearly ended up on the bank as a result of his initial steering.

“Why did you kiss me, anyway?” asked Geralt once he'd gotten a hang of steering. There wasn’t much wind coming the way they needed it to, so Eskel was periodically swiping the oar through the water.

“Just seemed like the thing to do.” Eskel paused, tongue trapped briefly between his teeth before he continued. “The way you were smiling just looked nice, and I thought to myself that I’d really like to kiss you. That’s all.”

“Look nice, how?” asked Geralt, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“You know… handsome.” Eskel rubbed his neck. “More pretty than handsome, actually, but I know you don’t like being called pretty much.”

Geralt didn't much mind Eskel calling him pretty, but he didn't say as much. It would be too embarrassing. “Well, if Lambert hadn’t insisted on making ‘pretty boy’ my nickname, I wouldn't mind.“

“He’s only eleven, Wolf," said Eskel. "Don’t let him get to you.”

“I try,” said Geralt with a huff. “But he’s the most big-mouthed eleven year old we’ve ever had at the keep.”

“I don’t disagree,” said Eskel.

“You ought not to. He’ll come up with a nickname for you, eventually.”

“I won’t be as reactionary as you, so he won't keep at it.” Eskel dropped the oar between his legs, leaving the remainder of the journey to the wind and Geralt’s questionable steering. “Eleven year olds have short attention spans.”

“Wish that applied to my case,” muttered Geralt. 

Eskel sighed knowingly.

They reached land in a rather bombastic manner, jarring into the port and almost shattering the hull of their little boat. Geralt was quick to perform damage control, using Aard to push the boat back into safe waters.

“Sorry, should have warned you.” Eskel hopped out the boat to help Geralt tie it to the wooden stake. “It takes some practice to do that without making a mess.”

“Gathered that,” said Geralt, glancing at the scrape mark along the hull of the boat. There were numerous other little scuff marks surrounding it, so hopefully no one would notice.

Once the boat was securely tied, they grabbed their bounty and headed back to the keep. It was still early morning. Two past midnight, if Geralt had to guess. If any of the drunk trainers had awoken during their absence, he was sure they would have ambled up into bed rather than staying awake. Geralt had never been drunk himself, but he knew people generally went to bed after drinking too much. Even witcher’s weren’t impervious to hangovers.

The keep was silent when they reached it. They stood at the door for a few minutes, listening intently, and heard nothing. Breathing a sigh of relief, Geralt pressed the door open and slipped inside, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Eskel was following suit. They crept past the table, where several drunk witchers were still slumbering, and headed upstairs to their room. They dared not so much as breathe too loud as they passed the other students bedrooms.

When they reached their door, they beamed at each other, pleased with their success. Geralt pushed the door open.

The blood drained out of his face.

“I wondered when you two would return,” said Vesemir from Geralt's bed, his arms crossed. His gaze dropped to the Foglet heads they were carrying, and Geralt knew a rant was brewing.

“Guess we didn’t need a Chort to be fucked,” said Eskel, and Geralt almost laughed.


End file.
